


Paying Attention

by redscudery



Series: Kinkmeme Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Distracted Sherlock, Established Relationship, M/M, Prompt Fill, determined john, what's so fab about that microscope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another prompt fill. Can't help myself: </p>
<p>Prompt: {established relationship} okay so let's say Sherlock and John are sitting at the kitchen table, Sherlock engrossed in his microscope, and John is borderline politely trying to get Sherlock's attention. Nothing seems to be working, not even throwing bits of food at him, so John 'accidentally' drops something under the table. While under there, John tries to see if some sexytimes will knock Sherlock out of his musings.</p>
<p>Cue Sherlock trying as hard as he can to focus on what's under his microscope rather than what John's doing to him under the table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paying Attention

John was halfway down his cup of tea when he realized that Sherlock was analyzing acids in his robe again. 

“Sherlock, put on some trousers. You’re going to get acid burns on your thighs.”

No answer. 

“Hello? This is your doctor speaking. You too can avoid workplace accidents. By wearing trousers.”

No answer. 

“Am I invisible? Have I suddenly lost my voice? Oi! Sherlock Holmes!”

No answer. John reached for his mobile.

Put on trousers you git. 

Sherlock’s eyebrow twitched slightly at the ping of his mobile, but there was otherwise no answer.

John tore a piece of crust off his toast, balled it up, and flicked it, with great accuracy, at Sherlock’s head. The bread hit him, bounced, and stuck in the detective’s curls. No answer, not even a shake of the head. 

Huh. Having him on, then, John thought. Sherlock normally hated things stuck in his hair. 

Sherlock continued to fiddle with the microscope, occasionally pipetting something from one of several evil-smelling beakers onto his slides. John sipped his tea. 

The clang of the spoon hitting the floor didn’t get a response either.

John bent down to retrieve the spoon. It had bounced over by Sherlock’s foot, and John couldn’t help but follow the line of the detective’s bare leg, long and beautifully muscular, up to the soft white briefs that were visible where the blue silk robe had fallen open. 

Hm. John quickly scanned the floor for discarded organs and suspicious chemical spills; finding none (unusual, but Sherlock had been busy with other things lately), he slid off his chair and approached Sherlock’s foot. Predictably, there was no answer from above.

Curling his hand around Sherlock’s ankle, John ran his thumb around over the bone. He didn’t expect a response, didn’t get one. He ran his hand up Sherlock’s leg, stopping at the sensitive join between the calf and the back of the knee. 

Was that a bit of a twitch? John ran his hand further up the inside of Sherlock’s leg, enjoying the firm muscle an the beautiful texture of his skin. When he reached the sensitive midpoint of the thigh, he leaned over and replaced his thumb with his mouth. A soft open-mouthed kiss, warm and slightly damp. 

There was a definite reaction from Sherlock this time, just a ghost of a shiver before his muscles tensed. 

So that’s how it is? John thought. He bent back to Sherlock’s thigh, trailing the same vague kisses up until his mouth was just shy of the briefs. He breathed in deeply, the scent of Sherlock’s body tantalizing and exciting, and exhaled warm breath on the most sensitive parts of Sherlock’s thighs.

John drew back. There was another slight twitch from the detective. Ha.

Then, John did the same thing to the other leg, working up from ankle, to knee, to thigh, with his hand and with his mouth. Sherlock was hard, now, his cock a firm, thick ridge in his briefs. John’s own cock was hard, too, pushing his pyjama bottoms out. 

If there were true justice in the world, John thought, he’d stop what he was doing right now and go and wank in the shower. Sherlock would either follow or suffer. Either result would mean a rare victory for John.

He paused again, moving back. The sight before him was just too tempting to resist- Sherlock’s legs were oh-so-casually sprawled apart, wider than they had been when John dropped the spoon, and the way the briefs hugged Sherlock’s hardness was indecently exciting. 

He was all in, then, he thought, feeling both charitable and smug. He ran his tongue carefully along the thigh just below the leg seam of the briefs, first on one side, and then on the other. He was gratified to see Sherlock’s cock twitch. John yielded to temptation and turned his face towards it. Opening his mouth, he laid it on Sherlock’s covered balls, exerting gentle pressure. 

Sherlock’s cock twitched again. From the top of the table came the clatter of a dropped slide. 

John continued upwards, gently nuzzling and biting Sherlock’s erection through the soft cotton of his briefs. Sherlock’s body came back slightly; he was steadying himself against the table, John thought, pushing his thumbs under the seam of the briefs and caressing the very tops of Sherlock’s inner thighs. 

John’s mouth reached the head of Sherlock’s covered cock and attacked it, so gently, with hot breath and teeth and tongue. Sherlock coughed, then inhaled sharply, his body tensing. John’s thumb was working its way around behind Sherlock’s balls to the sensitive spot behind them, stroking and pressing. 

The cotton of Sherlock’s pants was getting damper and damper. John pushed Sherlock’s chair back slightly in order to access the strip of soft skin between the waistband of the briefs and the edge of the table. He ran his tongue across Sherlock’s belly, then carefully took the fabric between his teeth and pulled it down.

“Bollocks!” Sherlock exclaimed, and John had the satisfaction of seeing a thin stream of liquid come pouring off the far end of the table. He sincerely hoped the floor was level- he didn’t want acid-burned knees, but he really didn’t want to stop. He’d always fantasized about removing someone’s clothes with his teeth, and Sherlock’s reaction was extremely gratifying. 

John continued to pull the briefs down, stopping when Sherlock’s cock was nearly free. It was an exciting sight, and John wanted to take it in his mouth right away, but restrained himself. He wanted Sherlock to suffer just a little more, so he set his mouth close to it, almost touching, but not quite. If Sherlock arched his pelvis even just a bit, he would come into contact with John’s lips. 

Sherlock’s breathing was definitely harsher, but he was doing his best to focus. John heard him pick up a slide and set it on a tray. Pigheaded bastard, he thought. Let’s see how he deals with this.

John opened his mouth and trailed his tongue up the stem of Sherlock’s cock to the glans. Sherlock’s hand came down on the table with a sudden thump, and there was a hitch in his breath. Encouraged, John swirled his tongue around the whole glans. Sherlock inhaled again, a long shuddering breath, and John reached out to grasp the whole cock in his hand. 

His mouth on the head and his hand on the shaft, John started stroking and sucking. The pipette clattered to the floor and Sherlock’s head tilted back.

“John” he gasped.

“Yes, Sherlock?” taking his mouth away, but continuing to stroke Sherlock’s cock.

“Pipette.”

“Certainly, Sherlock.” John let go of the detective and reached out for the pipette. He came out from under the table and handed it to his lover. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock bent back to the microscope.

John looked at Sherlock thoughtfully. There he was, to all appearances totally absorbed in his work, but with his briefs worked down around his hips and a glorious erection. 

Moving around behind Sherlock, John began to kiss him lightly along his neck and ears. He reached down into his pyjama pants and pulled out his own hard and aching cock. The pressure of his hand was a relief, and he gave several strokes, breathing into the pleasure. The slight set of Sherlock’s shoulders helped, too; John could tell that he was forcing himself not to turn around. 

John insinuated his hand around Sherlock’s waist and wrapped it around the detective’s cock again. Despite the slightly awkward position, he established a rhythm that suited both of them and began to stroke insistently. Sherlock tensed, tried to reach out for another slide, but dropped his hand, curling his body towards John’s hand like a cat. The rhythm intensified.

“Ohhh” The noise from John’s throat erupted suddenly, not exactly a moan, and filled the flat. Sherlock bucked his hips, pushing himself harder into John’s hand. From there, it was dizzyingly fast, a blur of sound and heat and friction. Sherlock made a harsh noise, and John felt his own orgasm hit him just as he felt Sherlock come, semen spilling over in his hand. They both collapsed, Sherlock slumped in his chair and John draped over him. 

Sherlock reached up to caress John’s neck and sighed. 

“Thank you,” he said, raising his face for a kiss. John obliged, lowering his mouth onto Sherlock’s soft, reddened lips, dipping his tongue into the warm heat. 

“Shower?” said John.

“Yes. Just a minute.” Sherlock was still floppy in his chair, but as John stepped back, Sherlock picked up one more slide. 

 

Grinning, John pulled his mobile from the pocket of his robe as he walked towards the shower. 

Put on some trousers, Sherlock. 

 

 

No. SH


End file.
